
Photo by cottonbro studio (Edited with Canva)
Fair to middlin
backpedaling through quotidian cycles
of suns and moons
and something in the mandarin dusk
put pits in my patina
Not this way, not today
will I be prey to this present husk
as I rip the rind of my rut
a black crow returns to the oak
clutching carrion
and I turn a leaf underneath
plucking my orange
death lives in our gut
On my back
everything looks up
above the mycelium that carries
the belly of my kin
thick and through the pores of my skin
my dreams are zesty
and there's a fire and a hunger
among the stars
just before I blow them out
About the Creator
Pixel Floyd
I write poetry. Inspired by the undefined spaces where words take their chances.


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